


"More Bass, Please"

by 1f_this_be_madness



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: 1970s, 1970s Era Queen (Band), Affection, Affectionate Insults, Also the man can orchestrate hell out of a song he's a genius, Angst, Band Fic, Banter, Bars and Pubs, Best Friends, Brian Needs a Hug, Brian and Roger being the best of friends, But he's got his band brothers, Cats, Confusion, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drinking, Epic Friendship, Experimental Style, Family Issues, Freddie pouts, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Historical References, Hugs, I mean he always does, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, In music that is, Innuendo, Insecurity, Led Zeppelin References, Light Angst, Melancholy, Naughtiness, News of the World (Queen) Era, Phone Calls & Telephones, Platonic Kissing, Protective Roger Taylor (Queen), References to the Beatles, Roger Taylor (Queen) Is a Good Friend, Roger's pretty, Sad Brian May, Sassy John, Self-Esteem Issues, Sharing a Bed, Sleepy Cuddles, Slurs, Smoking, Songwriting, Stress, Studio work, Swearing, Sweet, There needs to be a band cat what is this, Vulnerable Freddie, What-If, Worry, catcalling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24528496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1f_this_be_madness/pseuds/1f_this_be_madness
Summary: "We wrote all the songs for this album in about a week, which is great, because then we could get right back into recording."A series of instances for Queen during and around recording theNews of the Worldalbum, both studio time and song inspiration.
Relationships: Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, Brian May & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Brian May, John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor, John Deacon & Freddie Mercury, John Deacon & Roger Taylor, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 32





	1. Be a Big Man

**Author's Note:**

> I found this video about the recording of 'We Are The Champions' for News of the World and ran with what I saw in it. The band seemed so incredibly palpably happy working on what they loved :)
> 
> In other words, they were REALLY EXCITED ABOUT IT
> 
> https://youtu.be/W2Giti4-z_g

_This extraordinary mood...._

It's the quickest any songs have been created for an album. Certainly for one of theirs, but probably also for any album ever, darling, Freddie had said. "Do you think the Beatles wrote any of their songs in less than a week?"

"I'd think maybe you should put Zeppelin in that category instead, Freddie,"

"Whomever resides in it, darling, we simply must not fall into a well of writer's block. We're doing so well, I think we can get all our songs done for this album in a week's time, don't you?"

Brian and Roger and John look at each other and trade glances with Freddie; Brian's forehead is a little pinched but his fingers are already twitching as if he's raring to write, Roger laughs at the surety they need to do this, and twirls a drumstick, lighting up a cigarette and letting out a plume of smoke "Go ahead Fred, I'm itching to get back on tour anyhow".

John fidgets a little, seeming almost wholly unsure as his eyes flicker up and down, but "Okay, Freddie," he agrees as well. "We'd erm, best get cracking then."

The frontman beams, throwing his arms around each of them, patting John on the cheek and squeezing Brian's arm, slapping Roger excitedly on the arse. 

"Cheers, darlings, we are going to make this absolutely stu _pen_ dous! Just you watch, Mike!" He beams and blows a kiss to their producer, who sits with his assistant and listens to Freddie Mercury peddle out this idea like it's utterly perfect and doable on sight. 

"Yes, well." Sharing a glance with Andy, "That's excellent, fellows," Mike Stone says to them. Under his breath, as they head out together to get their creative juices flowing "... let's hope they can deliver."

Freddie cocks an eyebrow back as if to say to the both of them: of course we can, we're Queen!

He was certainly not anticipating that he wouldn't be in the best frame of mind for song writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears!
> 
> As the beginning notes attest, I found that beautiful little video when Queen was recording News of the World and my imagination ran away with me gladly. This is one of my favourite Queen albums :D
> 
> I must admit I don't know for sure anything about how long it took the Beatles or Led Zeppelin to write an album, so this is me taking the piss for the sake of humour
> 
> I'm hoping to write chapters dealing with possible inspirations for most of the songs. Let me know what you think.
> 
> Reactions appreciated <3


	2. So Come and Get Me...

Freddie goes off alone to a club that night.

It isn't one of their typical haunts, more of a hole in the wall, a nineteen twenties speak easy-esque place, where the pianist stumbles out early on the arm of some husky-voiced golden era-look starlet. And here Freddie stays, still smoking, late into the evening, swirling the dregs of whatever number drink he'd had. The man he'd eyed and flirted his way into inviting out tonight, for inspiration, he thought - and joy - had scarpered. Didn't understand the vast possibilities a night with Freddie Mercury offered; or perhaps he simply didn't care. 

His loss, Freddie blows a whisp of smoke from out his nostrils, taps the cigarette into the perfectly gleaming ash tray, bright silver in the low blue neon haze. Azure light dapples his hand as Freddie lifts it, clenching and extending his fingers. Suddenly wonders how it would have been for him if he really was here fifty-odd years ago, in this speak easy sort of scene, if his ruddy date hadn't returned from the war. Physically he'd come back, perhaps, but something in him wasn't there, wasn't whole. 

But no, that is just he himself not being whole. Not being enough.

 _So come and get me,_ Freddie thinks bitterly as a sinking feeling overtakes him, an almost delicious melancholy. An extraordinary mood, wholly ridiculous and dramatic. If he voiced it aloud, this feeling overtaking him, he would be certain to receive a barking laugh from

"...Knew I'd find you here," a gentle drawl of high-tonal amusement materialises over his shoulder along with a warm arm that is dropped companionably around his back. "Brian owes me twenty quid. Or a round, I haven't decided yet. He needs to lighten up, giant bastard." Pulling himself over and plopping himself into Freddie's lap, shaking out dark-gold tresses with a fond little huff as he twiddles a self-rolled cigarette between first and second fingers, Roger Taylor drops right in.

He exudes a rumpled sort of elegance, a leonid grace. Ease that Freddie had been inwardly attempting to channel since he'd known this man. Well, since even before, but having a real-life representation of such assurance never harried or truly down, the person who when the sky is cloudy and overcast is right ready and sure of the sun or a rainbow... Well, it only makes Freddie yearn even more than ever to exude something of that too.

Roger is a rainbow, bright and glowing, beaming past the troubles (so little spake of) from his youth. Utterly, effortlessly fabulous he is. "All right, Fred?" Now asking, voice a gentle growl, nudging the other with the side of his hand, Roger automatically reaches up and smooths Freddie's fluffy hair back as he swings and shifts himself round to get more comfortable in Freddie's lap, his opposite arm still resting around the singer's broad shoulders.

Freddie cannot help an almost-scoff from passing his lips, even as he purses them over his teeth and ducks his head a little. The weight of Roger resting nonchalantly into his lap feels really wonderful. "Are you drunk tonight, Roger, or is this some fascinating new bit of foreplay - finding your Freddie and subsequently locating your date?" Hopefully bitterness does not creep into his voice. Freddie isn't bitter, really; it's simply always been Roger's way to have things easy. He can get anyone he wants. Fred wishes it was half so simple for him to find somebody to love.

Roger winks and presses his lips tight, jutting out his chin and giving Freddie a closed-mouth smile before scoffing "- Don't be ridiculous, Fred. I said I was going to make Brian buy a round, didn't I? How's that mean I'm here with a bird? We saw you go out and you didn't call us about any party, so we decided to come find you." With a whistle and an "oi!" Roger lifts his hand and beckons behind Freddie's shoulders to a lanky figure with fluffy black hair frizzed in a bluish halo and looking even fluffier in the half light. "I found him!"

"Bollocks, Roger, this isn't a fair competition when you know so many more places that Freddie would go," a sweet voice speaks in lamentation as a long hand reaches out and squeezes Freddie's shoulder with a gentle "hullo Fred."

"Darlings I really don't see the need for the two of you to be all drastic, coming to find me, really. Where on earth is sweet Deacy?"

"Said he needed to sit alone in the hotel room. He's writing, I think," says Brian.

"Wanker got his big epiphany when I started saying to you -"

"We haven't got to go into any of that right now, Roger, keep it inside!" Brian waves both long pale hands madly, and then he steps round to join Freddie too, asking "Freddie, what's eating you?"

"That's what I just asked him, and he hasn't answered me -"

"You haven't exactly given me any chance, Blondie dearest!" Freddie crosses his arms over his chest then, jerking past Roger and puffing out a lip. Pitiful. "What if I haven't got anything to tell you? I could be having a lovely bloody day!"

His voice cracks and Bri and Rog exchange looks.

"Except you're not, Fred," Roger smacks his lips and raises expressive brows as Brian leans in. 

Speaking so whilst wrapping his long fingers around Freddie's closer arm the guitarist's eyes are wide and puppy-like, flickering over Freddie, worried. Sensitive Brimi. "If you'd rather not say, that's alright, but we've got a lot of work to do. And it'd - well it'd be good to know."

"Gotta write an album's worth of songs in a week," continues Roger. "Think the sod who decided we should do that was running mad."

"But we believe in him," Brian speaks so soft and serious. "We can do this, all of us together." His eyes go sharp as he looks at Rog, and the drummer sighs, those pearly-white teeth flashing as he shifts to press his forehead to the singer's, sticking close as he speaks words sharp and strong and determined as ever he is:

"Yes, I know, Brian - sod off, alright? - We're ready, Freddie. For whatever happens. I promise you that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *references to speak easys in the 20s are a bit more of an American thing due to Prohibition, but the whole imagining going to the war and changing...well, it happened everywhere. People are irrevocably marked by the experience of war, and that is a real and tragic occurrence that I don't intend to make light of. I have immense respect for all those who have fought
> 
> Freddie is sensitive and gets down on himself and worried, so I think he could act a bit petulant in the midst of that. Sweet man, luckily his dear bandmates are here for him
> 
> Can you guess a couple of the songs that I've referenced? ;P
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	3. My Sweeter Half Instead

Freddie sighs and pouts a little longer, though honestly he can't keep it going when lovely Brian says they believe in him in that sweet sincere unguarded way he has, the way he puts out all his feelings. It takes Freddie into a whirlwind and he shoves at Roger, standing up to go to the piano. "Hey!" His bandmate splutters indignantly, but Brian makes a hushing noise, catching the blond in his thin arms, that head of ebony curls shaking as Freddie throws one leg over the piano bench and opened the instrument back up, starting a bluesey riff that moves into a chord progression. 

He sucks in air, lips trembling a little as he sings _"Another party's over - and I'm left cold sober; baby left me for somebody new, oooh,"_ he waves off the automatic impulse of the others to come over and comfort him, flicking one hand at them. _"I don't wanna talk about it, just want to forget about it, want to be intoxicated with that special brew..."_ Freddie groans, bowing his body and playing the next bit with such an aching flair, voice starting low and rising to a high treble as Brian and Roger look on in awe - well, Rog puffs a cigarette but his wide eyes give him away. _"Soooo come and get me, let me sink into this feelin',"_

Tinkling of high notes on the piano melds with his sultry voice and he keeps humming and playing, stopping and starting a bit as the exhausted bartender talks to someone in the back and says they've got to get this ruddy drunk off the piano, but wait he's rather good, innit? Hang on, and Brian and Roger sit and listen, Roger lifting his finger and saying he could add a little bit of hi-hat here and then a thump of the bass drum, and Brian, who has somehow thought of carrying a satchel with a notebook in that the others hadn't noticed, pulls it out for Freddie and offers him a pen. 

"Here you are, Fred. Better write this down."

A smile catches on his lips as their hands meet, and "Thank you, Brian darling." Freddie already looks brighter, bending to scribble notation and lyrics on an empty page as the piano work turns over and over in his head. "At least dramatics birthed my melancholy blues. Now that is quite the title!" He drains the last drops in his final cup and goes to pay tab, swinging round a bit unsteadily. 

Roger laughs and stands up with Fred, arm wrapping round him as Brian gathers up the writing - which from what he can read of Freddie's slapdash exuberant hand, is practically the outline of an entire song. His chest bumps as he envies that ability to write from feeling in life. Freddie's got it, and Roger has it. Meanwhile... it's late, it's late, he's late Brian thinks and sighs as he hears Roger laughing over something as Freddie apologises to the bartender and workers for taking up time on the piano with his abysmal playing, and that makes Brian want to shut it down, that self-doubt Freddie's got, beyond deprecation when he actually believes his playing is rubbish. 

But Roger laughs as the bartender says "I was gonna put you out like, but you wasn't actually half bad or nuffink. Sound a bit like one o' them crooner blokes. Is ...Sinatra, innit? He one o' them?" The drummer remains mirthful as he adds stoutly "I know y' are," to Freddie. "You're familiar, I'll think on it... 's all you lot. Cheers," he waves them out as the trio leaves, Freddie still humming to himself, bitter mood lifted into something more sweetly melancholic, something to write about. 

He's got an arm around Roger's waist and his other hand holding Brian's after Bri lopes over, holding his notebook, when "Ah we didn't get Bri to pay for a round, for fuck's sake!" Roger bursts out.

Brian's brows lift as he starts to smile and Freddie pats Roger's side soothingly. "We'll get him next time, my dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a little on the nose, but I can bet the blues progression of 'Melancholy Blues' was the sort of thing that worked its way into Freddie's head and in this atmosphere there was in fact a piano for him to play, so ta-da! Lucky Brian had his notebook along, though he's worrying endlessly about his own songwriting process, poor fellow. We shall soon see his process, which gets a bit sad. And John is plugging right along elsewhere. As for Roger, well, he's Roger ;P
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	4. Hey, You Boy!

_Hey you boy, hey you. Hey you boy, don't you know what you're dooooin?_

Roger and Brian walk with Freddie out of the little pub, up the slightly rickety set of stairs that snake round to its door from the winding little alley. "it really is a miracle you found this spot, Rogie," Brian murmurs to him, shivering a bit in the mist of the early morning as it rolls off nearby fields. Pale grey and lemon-yellow clouds are illumed by the sunlight shining soft up over top of fences and trees beyond the buildings in town. A bird starts up with its chirp, sparrow or something - all else is quiet but a backfire of a car and some swift shouts from a couple of blokes heading to work.

The three bandmates exit the alleyway to pass on opposite side of the street from some factory workers, couple young blokes and older ones, swinging lunch pails, wearing those grey one-ups that make 'em look like prisoners on a chain. There are a couple of whistles, particularly at Roger in his tighter clothes, flowing hair and open shirt. "Why 'n cha come on over 'ere, sweetheart," one of the workers calls. "I'll give ya a good time!"

Brian is blushing and preparing to say something, while Roger only winks and laughs, and then as the calling continues "You couldn't afford him, darling," Freddie retorts, "...and I'm sure the two of you have vastly different ideas about what constitutes a 'good time'. On the other hand, you can always call me...," even Brian cannot stop a smile at the expression on the older worker's face as the younger two are nearly collapsing with laughter behind him.

"Just a money spitter too, Fred," Roger almost loses it as they continue walking. The drummer grabs onto a light pole and swings himself around it, roaring up to the sky, "Hey, you boy! Did you see their faces, Freddie, Bri?"

"Of course I did," Freddie's mood is all light now, not a trace of the melancholy from earlier. Brian shakes his shaggy dark head in response to what happened, still going along holding Freddie's hand. 

"What fools," he murmurs, though he's actually relieved they clearly hadn't noticed Freddie and him, because he can take slurs about as well as he takes people catcalling Roger. Which isn't well at all, but it happens often and he doesn't say anything. He is just as much a fool, Brian berates himself now as ever. How can he stand by and allow this sort of shit to happen to his best friend? 

"Brian, it's alright, mate." Brian looks up into those beautiful blue eyes. He doesn't know how Roger does it, but he's standing there lifting his arm from around Freddie's back to tousle Brian's curls a bit. "Besides," he licks his lips and waggles his eyebrows in a proud and suggestive way. "That's gotten me thinking."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why the hell do I have people saying things to Roger all the time? (I'm sorry Rog, you're incredibly pretty but you don't deserve this). Least he's got an excellent sense of humour.  
> All I can see is him dancing in the street with that meaty guitar and drumbeat from 'Fight From the Inside' in his head though, and even as people are catcalling, Rog creating an incredible punk sound from it is the best response possible. This is all conjecture, though - I have another idea for how he came up with parts of this song that I plan to explore...
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	5. Fight from the Inside...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brian gets a phone call and song ideas of his own are begun subsequent
> 
> Warning for reference to death, I've learned one of Brian's songs in particular was written about his cat Pixie. This is going to be a sad chapter for him :'( and me, as I've lost beloved pets too

Roger handles Freddie into the hotel, Brian holding doors for them both. 

Roger is humming and doing vague harmonic screeches now, hopefully for a song but Brian continually hisses at him to keep his voice down anyhow, they aren't the only people residing in this hotel. Freddie is tapping his fingers gently against his own skin and then on to Roger, smiling in beatific fashion. Thankfully he isn't covering up his face when smiling now, though that could very well be due to the fact that he is at the very least intoxicated, or far likelier to be sleep drunk. As he had been, in fact, sitting in that little bar so long as to be cold sober.

He grumbles and waves dramatically as Roger tries to catch him, almost dancing, humming and then giggling madly over something as Brian rolls his eyes and reaches past the pair of them to open their room door. Apparently both had been leaning on it, because Freddie falls into the room with his arm around Roger and Rog lets out a peal of laughter as he tumbles too. Pair of them end up stretching out on the floor blinking up at Brian.

"Th' hell, Bri?" The drummer croaks, and grunts as Freddie flings an arm around him, shifting on his bum in an attempt to sit upright. Brian shushes Rog, who snaps back affronted "Don't 'shh' me, you wanker, what d'you -"

"John's asleep!" Brian waves his arms, midnight curls flying as he bows his head down and shoves at Roger's warm back with long hands. "You need to stay quiet and go to bed, else sit down and write _quietly_ -" Brian opens his notebook and withdraws the page within that Freddie had scrawled his ideas on. "Here you are, Freddie."

The singer yawns squeakily and takes the paper, crumpling it as he pulls it to his chest and flopping back onto the floor with eyelashes fluttering and snores already starting. Roger giggles again and then huffs out air dramatically, shifting himself and wrapping an arm around Freddie. "Oh all right," Roger hisses as Brian stares hard at him, shuffling with Freddie to at least get him into a bed. John is conked out across the pillow, cheek stuck to his own bit of paper on which he'd been writing something about being low and watching the show over and over again.

"I know how he feels," grumbles Brian as he takes Freddie's legs and lifts them onto the bed as Rog very slowly works on pushing his torso up where there is room. 

"There!" The drummer finally snaps as Freddie lies across John's legs, on top of his blankets though, head on one side of the bed, feet stretched across its width to the other. "Are y' happy now?"

Carefully reaching out for the opposite end of the blanket and untucking it from beneath the mattress so as to wrap it round Fred, Brian sighs at last to Roger "Yes, I'm perfectly -" Though, really - with that statement his knees buckle and he sits sharply next to the blond at the foot of the bed, breath coming sharp. Freddie curled up like a cat had caused him to think, there had been a call for him that came in before he and Rog went out to find Fred. A message, like. From his mum.

They haven't spoken much, not since Brian quit his doctorate for music and his father in particular had made it very clear what he thought about that. Every once in a while Bri would speak to his mother, but never to his dad, not in nearly seven years now. He gets a lump in his throat as he thinks yeah, of course then there'd be things I don't know, like my dear Pixie passing - unintentional, unbidden Brian lets out a sharp cry, eyes filling and trembling fingers rising to cover his lips. Roger, still beside him, jumps and is about to rag on how Brian had told him to be quiet and yet now...

But as Roger turns to face his friend directly he sees the anguish in Brian's eyes, his face, his posture. "Whoah, mate," Roger's tone is a low growl so as not to wake anyone up, but his warm strong hand goes to cup the back of Brian's neck. No longer joking or playful. "...What is it?"

Brian sniffs, tries to shake his head. "It's -" _nothing. She came without a farthing, a babe without a name. So much ado 'bout nothing is what she tried to say._ It's what he's trying to say now, what he intends, yet she'd been with him so long, she was his dearest friend since childhood. _So much that I did love her, so many games we played -_ and yet she'd been getting old and...and she had died. His mother left a message, a note. She hadn't called back again to tell him, hadn't said to call her. Just that she was sorry, his sweet Pixie was dead. "All dead, all dead," he croaks out now, and through his tears sees Roger's warm blue eyes, the slight crease in his forehead that shows his concern for Brian. The strong hand upon his shoulder.

And the guitarist chokes to stop another wail, lunging into Roger's arms and burying his face in the drummer's hair. Roger's arms come up and hold fast onto his back as he feels Brian shaking. "Oi, there now. There now Brian," he murmurs, that high sweet voice mingling with Brian's sobs as he sputters, chokes again, sure Roger will think he's acting drastic over something, but 

"... It's Pixie, Roger. Me cat, my mum called when we were in studio and said she's -" _all dead, all dead, like the dreams we had..._ "She's dead and gone." Whimpering, feeling so small and cold and young, Brian shakes his head into his friend's soft mane murmuring "... it's probably stupid, to be feeling this much when I wasn't even there -"

"No." Roger shakes his own head in response to those words and takes hold of Brian's face, shifting back to look at his friend. "Brian, your sadness isn't fucking stupid. You're sad because you love her, and you're a decent sod. And y' weren't there, that's - got to hit harder." Roger's voice cracks in emotion as he responds to the ache in Brian's eyes. Strokes tears off his friend's sharp cheekbones and rubs circles on his skin. "And your mum didn't have the decency to call you back directly." Roger's jaw clenches, his eyes blaze. His friend knows damn well how Rog feels about Bri's parents, but talking shite about the pair of them at this moment won't do a thing. So he presses his lips together and pulls Brian back to him. This is why he'd been raring to go and find Freddie, Roger realises. One of the reasons, anyway. To focus on a friend rather than on his own feelings. Why he'd been so quiet tonight and hadn't even protested too much about potential drinking, even as he'd blown up earlier about next to nothing.... Ah, Brian. 

Cinching his arms around the other even tighter, Roger presses himself to Brian in an embrace, trying to bequeath as much comfort as he can without words, because he really hasn't any words. Never really had a pet as a kid, but he'd had some kittens when living with Freddie; though most of them stayed with Fred he loved them in his turn, even made cracks about being a kitty breeder. And the way Brian's talked about his cat, Roger knows to Brian she was a vital member of his family. 

"... I'm sorry, Bri," Roger hears himself say.

A final hitching sob precedes a wobbly "I'm going to miss my little friend, Rogie."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might not be light angst any more, why did I do this :'(
> 
> *Brian apparently wrote 'All Dead, All Dead' about his beloved cat, and he and his father didn't speak for years (not til the tour for this album, later in '77) because of Brian's choice to pursue a career in music. I'm not sure if his mother would/could have left a message on Brian's phone, but I know messages would be left for the band esp when they were in studio
> 
> *I was alerted to the fact Roger also had cats, he called himself a cat breeder? That's insanely cute to me (thanks for the information Cam!) I love learning about Rog and cats, and that he currently has one ahhh Roger you're still too adorable 😍
> 
> This is all cracking off at once, I meant for it to be over the course of days, so this is about Day 2 of the writing (since the sun's well up and Fred and John have both fallen asleep for the night)
> 
> Not all the rest is going to be sad, I promise! Poor Bri
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	6. Picture on a Teenage Wall

Roger holds onto Brian as he cries himself out, the drummer getting a little weepy too if anyone were to ask about it; sod off, it's just a prickling in the eyes, really. He shakes that dark blond mane and holds Brian's head into it, or rather Bri buries his face in Roger's hair and neck of his own accord, those thin shoulders of his shuddering and shaking. Roger holds on to him, humming a bit, as he still hears the steady bass beat for the song he is currently coming up with. 

Though he stays with Brian, inwardly scoffing at himself. He's just another picture on a teenage wall, isn't he? A pretty face, sexy Roger Taylor. And he's got no problems with it - those whistling blokes saw the fine features, alright. He ought to've ripped off his shirt and flashed his chest for a lark, as doing that makes other sorts of fans scream. Unless they're a dead crowd like at the bloody Rainbow. Still recalls that silence, even three years later. The heaviness that really had nothing to do with shite lighting and everything to do with no one being into them. Alright, there were some; but they were the teenagers, the super-serious anti-establishment sort, and Roger wants _more_ than that.

Roger understands, though, fuck the establishment. They're, they have always been the ones who have so much trouble with Freddie's look, the fey attire, dresses and sparkles and long fluffy hairdos and what-have-you. And Fred is slowly going away from androgyny; he's already cut his hair to go just a bit curly round his ears but not over them, and he's wearing t-shirts and jeans --or sharing collared shirts with Brian, the class bastard -- he's not so flash any longer, and it twinges a bit. Roger keeps right on wearing his embroidery and sequins and rainbow suspenders with sparkling pink shoes because he gives no fucks. He wants to help Freddie see that he doesn't need to give any either; he's still got those harlequin outfits, thank goodness. Roger promises himself to tell Fred he ought to wear them once band goes on tour again. 

And Brian... He focuses on Brian, who has at last calmed down. Roger stretches out, still counting out in his head as he pulls blankets and pillows down onto the floor for his gigantic friend, stretching himself out to be a living mattress, as it were. Bri is always going to be there, stolid and dependably simple in his black slacks and argyle scarf with the open vest over his white shirt; or in a silky shimmering tunic that looks like moonlight on river rocks. And those swan outfits, that everyone else calls angel wings but Roger cannot get it out of his head that Brian's standing there strumming his guitar like some gigantic _bird--_

And then of course there's John, whose style changes as often as his hair but it is always surprising and very often bright. Clashing even, yet everything he wears looks good on Deacy. Just somehow works, even if it's canary yellow shorts and a lime green top. One of his many quiet talents, Roger supposes. He cranes his neck backwards to spy Deacy, who is buried in the bedclothes so naught but his hair and part of his backside is visible along with Freddie's hairy arm wrapped around the part of him that isn't visible to Roger's bleary blurry eyes. 

A sharp stab of pain zings through his neck. He'd wanted to check on John's lyrics, knows the bass boy has a bit of trouble starting out sometimes. Though Deaks did start to write when he and Brian had a row before going after Freddie, that sly little smirk flashing his teeth as he'd sat quietly and bent his head over the complimentary notepad in their hotel room.

Said notepad isn't visible either, but Roger is sure it'll show again tomorrow, along with whatever pieces he and Brian are composing. Roger cards his fingers through Brian's ebony curls as his friend's breaths come deep and even, his body at last relaxing fully into sleep as the sun shines through the window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger's thinking over his song, and his love for his boys in all their fashions.
> 
> *Roger was said to be in a horrendous mood after the concert at the Rainbow in '74, according to Brian, who said Roger had hurt his foot before the concert and that crowd was 'dead' which ticked the drummer off (can't say I blame him!)
> 
> I noticed in the late seventies Freddie started wearing clothes that were more masculine and less androgynous; and I see the possibility of him changing in some ways to push against what people thought of him. What do you think?
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


	7. You Make Me Wonder...

Brian wakes later to a heavy feeling in his chest, and recalls how he had blubbered of Pixie til he fell asleep, and mortification infuses his cheeks with parsimony as he blinks rapidly and lifts his hand to push down his ever unruly hair, hearing a slight sound and feeling movement.

Brian looks down to find Roger, head and body on top of Brian's chest like a living blanket, his arms wrapped around Bri's back and a slight high sound exiting his lips as he turns that bright head, soft locks ghosting across Brian's breastbone. He gets a lump in his throat, seeing how the drummer had pulled down a pillow and blanket for him, and he guesses that hadn't felt like enough so Rog had thrown himself onto Bri and stayed. 

His weight and presence are comforts, and Brian thinks of course, some of the heaviness was literal with Rogie here; yet the lump does not leave his throat as he thinks of how he'd so swiftly spoken to Rog of his woes, yet he'd hardly broached the subject to his wife. Hadn't even called her about it, or anything. Of course, there was a check in, and she'd come visiting a time or two, but Brian does not divulge his heart to her. Why, why must he get the feeling that it's late, too late to do so?

 _You say you love me - but I hardly know your name. And if I say I love you in the candle light, there's no one but myself to blame._ Brian lifts his head as he hears the sounds of the others waking, Freddie and John. The bassist quiet as always, and Fred for once not seeming perturbed to have woken up, only whispering delightedly to John about an idea he's had, and has to go into the studio with. John murmurs "That's great, Freddie," in his gentle manner that is always full of pride and awe when he talks to Fred. 

_What's this game that you're playin', what's this that you're saying, I know that I can't reply._ Brian nods with an attempt to smile as Freddie murmurs "Good morning, Brian," scooting across the bed to press a kiss to Bri's cheek. Deaks waves to him. 

Brian waves back. "Morning Fred, John." He freezes as Roger moves and makes a noise again, but it's only to bury himself farther into Brian's skin, practically melding into his lap as the lanky guitarist carefully sits upright whilst keeping Rog close as he sleeps. 

The other two are off to get breakfast "- and morning drinks, darling, what say you to a mimosa?" And Brian is sitting waiting for Roger to wake, an entire song in his head, with nowhere to write it - that is until John, slipping into clothes and passing by, taps Bri on the shoulder and offers his notebook, the one Brian had let Freddie use last night, so full of scrawlings of ideas he doesn't blame John a whit for the slight crease in the younger man's forehead. But John only nods at him and hands him a pen as well. 

Brian whispers thanks as he blocks out a page for a song about Pixie and moves on to write out all the traitorous thoughts swirling through his head right now; the surety that _it's late, it's late, it's late, it's late..._ but looking down into Roger's sleeping face again, Brian amends _it's not too late_ because he knows the stubborn bright fellow would say that. He will say that, surely, as Brian hears Freddie and John leave, and is assured that they'll find him "a muffin to munch on, darling" which makes John giggle and Brian turns bright red upon registering the joke. Though he wouldn't say no to a blueberry muffin, or one with cranberries and almonds in. 

"Get Roger some coffee," he whispers after the others loudly. "Sure he'll need it presently" and as Brian continues writing queries on whether or not it can be too late there's a shift and a moan from his lap.

Roger's irascible voice, high tone rough from rising out of sleep, grumbles "sod off, Bri" even as he slings himself upright with his soft hair sticking out in all directions and mutters "Morning".

"Morning, Rogie," Bri tries his hardest to sound chipper, though the squinting of Roger's eyes tells him just how shite he'd been at that. 

"Hey Bri. You alright?"

Always, always asking that. Brian bites his lip and turns his head, trying to find the words, and then his shoulders are shaking as he looks away and Roger has said his name and wrapped both arms around him - his skin is so WARM - and Brian sinks into his friend's shoulder, his stiff body relaxing by increments into Roger's embrace.

_Oh, whoa you make me wonder, did I live my life right?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brian and Roger's friendship is absolutely amazing and I adore them
> 
> I don't know what Brian's thoughts were upon composing the song 'It's Late', but I wonder. It's one of my favourite Queen songs. What do you think?
> 
> Comments appreciated <3


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